


between two lungs

by skitty_titty



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, T&UA for swearing/heavy themes, WARNING IN THE NOTES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skitty_titty/pseuds/skitty_titty
Summary: “i missed you.” prompto says. “needed someone around to make me look good.”“missed you too, nerd.” noctis replies. “ignis and gladio are uncomfortable pillows, compared to you.”“is that all i am to you? a pillow?”“prompto, the prince’s pillow. i like it.”“i’d likeyouto shut up.”





	between two lungs

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CpjQlpCiWVE) by florence + the machine.
> 
>  
> 
> warnings:  
> -brief mention of food/vomit  
> -minor character death/injury  
> -major character injury  
> -blood

prompto hasn’t eaten anything in what feels like months.

whenever he tries, it turns out to be in vain. he’ll throw it up again minutes later. cherry blossoms are what come out, dyed red in colour from his own blood. the taste lingers in his mouth.

he has to be okay, though. living alone, providing for yourself, no one to ask for help; he can’t do it if he’s not able to even work. so he manages. buying tissues has become a new essential, yet another thing he has to waste money on. eating has never been more difficult, and that’s without the whole “coughing up flowers” thing.

there’s no question of who these petals came from; prompto keeps them all safe, locked away in a drawer, inside a box lined with paper towels. blood stains don’t look pretty, after all, but drops of blood littered across the flower itself looks… romantic? prompto can’t bring himself to think like that.

it shows his devotion, he supposes. willing to ache for the one he loves. willing to struggle in silence; realising the truth about his unrequited feelings would kill prompto, literally. for feelings not to be reciprocated is worse than death. he’s seen people wither away in front of him, growing sicker and sicker until they just stop.

the lady next door was excessively kind. her brown-turned-grey hair was wispy, always in a bun on the back of her head. she’d cook food for him when his parents began to become too busy, and it had become a nightly experience. there was a handkerchief she’d always carry, embroidered, though prompto never found out with what.

occasionally, she’d cough into it. after, she’d apologise sadly and prompto would assure that it’s okay. surely, to his child’s mind, she was just growing old, right? and the older you get, the more you cough because you’re weaker?

one day, he knocked on her door because, yet again, his parents ceased to exist. it was her birthday, so he had a card that cost all of the money he’d managed to find. when she doesn’t open the door, he slides it through and assumes she’s ill. he goes back home, wishes her to be well soon, and eats very little.

prompto does the same the next day, without the card.

and the next.

and the next.

it clicks that she’s not coming home.

now he reflects on it — now he’s older and wiser and has seen how cruel the world can be — he wishes he had noticed sooner. he would like to think he could have helped but, then again, you can’t force love, can you? so he sits at the island in his kitchen, slowly lifted a spoon full of cereal to his bloodstained lips. he crunches it slowly but even that makes his jaw aches.

it’s saturday today. no school, so less risk of discovery. still, noctis has invited him over later, to his little apartment around a mile from his own house. the prince is busy during the first half of the day but he hates going a day without prompto, and who is prompto to deny him?

so he forces down some food. if he doesn’t, ignis will know, somehow. like magic.

he’ll take another bite even if it kills him.

he’d do a lot more than that, too.

 

* * *

 

“i missed you.” prompto says, in lieu of greeting, a little too real. before noctis can even think to reply, he says, “needed someone around to make me look good.”

the laugh he adds sounds almost realistic. prompto wonders whether noctis would even notice. he wonders stuff like that a lot. the most frequent contender is _'does he like me as much as_ i _like him?'_. the answer is _no_ , and he knows it; noctis isn’t in love with him, after all.

“missed you too, nerd.” noctis responds, grinning wide regardless of the insult. “ignis and gladio are uncomfortable pillows, compared to you.”

“is that all i am to you? a pillow?”

“you’re doing pretty well for yourself, working for royalty at 17.” noctis teases. “prompto, the prince’s pillow. i like it.”

“i’d like _you_ to shut up.”

noctis closes his mouth defiantly and waits for the five seconds it takes for prompto to break and apologise.

“i was kidding.” prompto concedes immediately. “please don’t stop talking. the way you’re looking at me makes me feel like i stepped on a puppy. please.”

at the face prompto pulls, noctis’ resolves breaks soon, too. they stand in the hallway in noctis’ house, just laughing against each other. they stay that way for a few minutes, side by side, until ignis wanders by and prompts them into moving with a roll of his eyes.

they play video games into the late afternoon, but stop once ignis forces them to do some homework. that takes two hours and, once complete, prompto starts to head home. a look from noctis and ignis' confirmation has prompto lying next to the former, eyes closed, and desperately trying not to breathe. he had to give in.

the sheets below him smell like noct, which is something prompto is not surprised about, considering it’s his bed. yet, he feels as if he’s surrounded. the bed is warm, but warmer with an arm wrapped around his side, holding him in place.

as he drifts off to sleep, the stars dance in the distance. as he fades away, he hears noctis whisper, “i wish we could stay like this forever.”.

 

* * *

 

it gets both harder and easier to hide, as time goes on.

he’s twenty-two; has been steadily falling in love for the past however many years. he’s well trained in the act of secrecy, though there is no effort to make it easy. as he adjusts to a few more petals a day, it grows worse and they come up in clumps now, or he coughs them up more frequently.

still, he works through it. he’s not sure if anybody has seen — gladio might have noticed and ignis may suspect — but he doesn’t think so. no one seems overly worried about him.

it’s further into the trip when things take a turn for the worst, and it’s prompto’s fault. when they arrive in altissia, everything goes to hell. a fight against the gods leaves ignis blinded, gladio with a broken wrist and hand, and noctis--

he doesn’t want to think about that quite yet.

the hospital is incredibly busy, with all the destruction and ruin around them. thankfully, the building itself hadn’t taken much damage, with only small sections of the carpark having rubble on. still, the look on everyone’s face was solemn.

prompto finds he can’t take it and leaves for some air. maybe someone will be mad at him later for not getting his aching leg checked, but he can’t be in there for another minute.

though lots of the buildings are broken, he wanders through the abandoned streets and wishes he were home again, with _them_. everything has gotten so hard recently, and he can tell it’s only going to get worse. as he steps over a fallen lamp post, painfully lifting his leg to do so, he wonders about what he could have done differently. how he could have been faster. if he had reached lunafreya, if he had reached noctis, or ignis, or anyone, maybe it would have been different.

 _you shouldn’t dwell too long on the past,_ he remembers ignis once saying. but that’s then and this is now; everything has changed.

he wanders around into the early hours of the morning. forcing himself back to the hospital, if only to wait, he rests against one of the uncomfortable walls, because all the chairs are taken. eventually, even that is too much, so he slides down it and starts to sit, waiting, just another face in the mourning crowd.

his eyes shut and — one, two — he’s gone. no one blames him for that.

 

* * *

 

time passes by, and prompto just floats, until there’s a hand against his shoulder, ushering him awake. as he opens his eyes, groggy, whoever woke him has moved on to the next person; it seems everyone’s tired today. that, or subjected to sleepless nights full of anxiety.

prompto finally allows himself to see him.

the hospital is lighter during the day — overwhelmingly so — and prompto’s eyes ache but he can’t stop. he almost runs down the white and grey corridor, only held back by the rules of politeness. plus, he doesn’t want to risk hurting more people than he already has.

he was told a room number yesterday, so that’s where he heads. when he sees gladio and ignis, prompto knows that he’s in the right place.

ignis is in a wheelchair, due to an ankle broken from the impact. his glasses aren’t on his face, leaving the full scar on display. there’s no need to ask whether he can see; ignis’ eyes firmly remain shut. gladio, on the other hand, looks a lot better. only his wrist is in a cast, though the emotional toll doesn’t look any better. heavy bags rest under each of their eyes and they look many years older, even if prompto can’t pinpoint how.

ignis pushes himself forward as gladio takes a step back; prompto doesn’t only feel fear from what’s behind the door, but also because of the two men in front of him. it’s not disappointment, nor anger, on their faces. in fact, both are incredibly hard to read. prompto hates the unfamiliar.

he blames what has happened on himself, as always. _if i hadn’t of talked to him, if i hadn’t had forced myself into the prince’s life, maybe_ , he thinks, _he wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed, almost dead._

if he could, he’d switch places in a heartbeat; but wishing was never enough, was it?

“be careful, prompto.” ignis says, after a long moment. prompto stares back, before nodding. he can already feel that he’s going to cry; by the tightness of his throat, by the scratchiness of his eyes. desperately, he enters noctis’ room, if only not to cry in front of them. it wasn’t the most intelligent of moves, he realises, as the prince looks up at him from where he lies.

blood dribbles down his chin, chunks of petals sticking to his face. the flower is red — a chrysanthemum — prompto notes; a typical symbol of love. noctis’ hair is messy, as usual, but it doesn’t look quite the same, doesn’t look quite as dignified. his eyes as red like the flowers. when the light hits him right, there are tear tracks staining his cheeks.

“i did this.” prompto whispers. he wishes he could change everything. he wishes for a lot of things in that moment. noctis just blinks back at him, usual grin nowhere to be seen. he manages a weak smile, to which prompto’s heart shatters at the sight of.

prompto can’t even think of the words to say; just gapes, like a fish out of water.

“you don’t have to apologise.” noctis manages with clear difficulty. his voice is croaky, like he’s old and dying, like he’s smoked for years and lingers on the brink of death. “you-- you shouldn’t. apologise, that is.”

“i do.” prompto responds. “i…”

“it’s not your fault.” a statement that prompto tries so hard to fight. “you’re perfect, to me. you’re not to blame.”

“but i am, aren’t i?” the laugh prompto gives is weak, broken and shaky. noctis stares at him then, moving his gaze from where it lingered on a crack in the wall. “i’m the one who put you in a hospital bed. i’m the one who broke your heart. i’m the one who was too scared to say anything, and i’m the one who _caused_ this.”

“i love you.” noctis says. narrowed eyes. clenched jaw. prompto knows he’s angry. “i love you so much that i can’t bear to have the surgery to remove you, not even if i’ll die. i want to see your face every day as i wake up by your side. i have your smile memorised and every picture that you’ve sent of yourself saved, in case i manage to somehow forget. i don’t-- i can’t fucking-- _wait_.”

wait?

“too scared to say anything?” noctis asks, confused. “what does that mean?”

it takes prompto a few seconds to catch up, after the emotional rollercoaster he’s still halfway through dealing with.

“oh, shit.” prompto says. “i said that, didn’t i?”

now he’s royally fucked. literally.

“what did you mean, prompto?” noctis repeats. he sounds dangerously hopeful.

“i love you too, i guess?” prompto adds, but it sounds scared. “i mean-” he does what any person does when they’re worried: ramble- “i was kinda half in love with you when we, like, first talked and stuff but then i got to know you more and, yeah, the whole throwing up flower things really sucks, which you… obviously know. so yeah, you love me too and everything, i guess, but please don’t be mad? even though you totally deserve to be bu--”

there are arms around him; a hand on his back and a hand on the back of his head. when noctis presses his lips to prompto’s own, he feels the world ignite around him. the dried blood from noctis’ face melts away, along with the petals, along with the remnants of suffering.

he can feel noctis grin, can feel the earth start to hum with them; stars aligned is a wonderful feeling, after all. two lungs have become one, as the old folk would say. finally, they are complete.

“i missed you.” prompto says, pulling away to breathe. this close, prompto can see it all; the faint scar across his jaw, every mole and every freckle, everything and more. he thinks this is what paradise would be. he thinks he’d never have to move because he has everything he’d ever wanted.

“let’s stay like this forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> pinterest: [ignis](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/hokseok/ignis-stupeo-scientia-ffxv/) | [prompto](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/hokseok/prompto-argentum-ffxv/)
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> youtube (music playlists): [ffxv](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_rSVvI_mwOzblAt0IjaLoTNJNZ07ZIZu)  
> extra note:  
> noctis' flower was a cherry blossom tree, or the sakura tree in asian culture. they signify change (because they appear when a season changes) and short life (because they're only around for a few weeks).
> 
>  
> 
> prompto's flower was a yellow chrysanthemum, though the story states it as red. a yellow flower signified neglected love or sorrow, whilst a red one means passion or love. this might be written into a prequel, from noctis' POV, so keep a look out!


End file.
